


Ten Years On

by Silverlight8



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Murder, POV Original Character, Post-Canon, Short One Shot, Superstition, Ten Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 16:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15147041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverlight8/pseuds/Silverlight8
Summary: Ten years later, the deaths of the farmer and Bunny Corcoran are still lingering in the memories of the inhabitants.





	Ten Years On

**Author's Note:**

> This was written really quickly (in half an hour) with no beta-ing, so it's definitely not perfect. Just a little idea I had. Please enjoy!

Look at that lake there. D'you see it, do you see the mist over the water? That's where they say old Harry was killed, oh, ten years ago now it must be. Never learned who killed him. Found him in the forest, didn't they, all covered in blood, stiff and leaning up against a log as if he was still livin'? But everyone knows it was in the lake where he was killed, the blood was all smeared around and the body was wet like them murderers had tried to clean it up. Can still see his face... Turned blue before they found him because it was wintertime and he froze there, in the forest, covered in blood. Covered in bloody handprints, but the police never saw it, did they? Could've told them, sure, but we don't deal with the police much out here. First murder we've had in, what, a hundred years? Didn't want them thinking we'd have done it or something.

Always thought them people in the creepy old house in the property over might've had something to do with it, though. From that fancy college up that way? Always out here on the weekends, hooting and hollering in the night, dressed up like ghosts in old white sheets. Invadin' from who-knows-where and making a mess; hell, killing our people... Could hear them from miles away some nights. Got especially bad the night he was murdered, didn't it? Could barely sleep. Old Harry only wanted to check on his chickens, didn't need no college kids coming and stickin' him through with a knife or whatever they did to him. Some people from 'round here think they killed him with their bare hands, that's why there were handprints– but God, it makes me sick. Anyway, it sure got quiet when he was gone. 

Ten years ago; what a time, what a time. Two murders in one year, they say, that boy who fell down the ravine too– though most say it was only an accident. Still, we say it was murder, don't we? Them deaths were too close together for comfort. There was a murderer roamin' around here, no doubt about it. But that's gone and passed now, obviously, although the people who remember won't forget anytime soon. I sure as hell won't. 

Anyway, nobody from around here goes near Harry's place nowadays. The house is empty and almost fallin' down, but you never know what could be lurking. Ten years on and people're still suspicious... That old house those college kids visited is empty too, so I don't much reckon we've got a lot to worry about. But we don't go to the lake anymore. You look out the window in the morning – like now – and see the mist on the surface of the water and you can't help but think, Old Harry must be out there now, roaming around, waiting for someone to find him... Waiting for someone to find out who really killed him ten long years ago.

Wouldn't you?


End file.
